A Tale of Two Patricks
by peculiarjuliar
Summary: Pat isn’t just a rebel, he’s also a family man. With an overworked mum, a sick grandpa, and a little sis, Pat has his hands full. When Ashlee Verona befriends Cam,the new kid, and Pat finds himself dating a certain shrew, things may just get out of hand.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. I only own the OCs.

_**Author's Note:**_ I was browsing through story ideas and hit on this one. I love the movie and I don't want to mess the plot line up, so don't expect this fic to take an AU turn somewhere along the way. It will stay true to the movie.

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_Ring. Ring._

"Patrick?"

_Ring. Ring._

"Patrick, are you going to get that?"

_Ring. Ring._

With a sigh, Ashlee Verona set her book down and rose from the couch.

_Ring. Ring._

"I'm coming. Gosh," she mumbled as she stumbled into the kitchen that was connected to the tiny living room.

_Ring. Ri—_

"Hello?"

"_Hello?"_

"Yes?"

"_Hey, is Patrick around?"_

"Yeah, somewhere. Who's this?"

"_Who's this?"_

"Um, you called me, so I really don't have to answer that question."

"_Neither do I."_

"In that case, I'm just going to hang up now. You'll have to catch Pat later."

"_No wait, I don't want to talk to him. I need to ask you something."_

"What?"

"_Did he really eat the duck?"_

"Is that what this is about?"

"_I really need to know."_

"Oh well."

"_What?"_

"Why don't you ask Patrick if he ate that duck?"

"_He'd kill me."_

"At least then you'd stop bothering me."

"_You're his sister, right?"_

"Nope, I'm his prison bud, Chuck."

"_What the hell?"_

"Bye now."

Ashlee rolled her eyes as she hung up the phone before heading back to the couch. Picking up her book, she opened it up to the bookmarked page and started reading again.

"Who was that?"

Looking up, Ashlee saw her older brother standing in the kitchen doorway dressed in a pair of long blue pajama bottoms and a white wife-beater. His dark hair was soaking wet from a shower and was dripping water into a pool around his bare feet.

"Oh, you know, just another call from an idiotic fellow student who wanted to confirm some rumors about you."

Patrick's eyes lit up and he moved to join her on the couch.

"No way, Pat, you're soaking wet! Gosh, don't you towel your hair when you're done?"

He ignored her and dumped her legs off the couch unceremoniously. "Scoot your big butt over, Ash," he demanded in a playful tone.

Ashlee pulled an expression of feigned offense. "How dare you! And for your – hey! That's my blanket! I draw the line at my blanket! You're wet, Patrick!"

Laughing, he began to shake his hair out like a dog shaking water from its fur. Droplets of moisture flew in every direction. Ashlee screeched and took cover under her blanket to wait out the storm.

"It's raining, it's pouring," Patrick's rich baritone voice belted out.

"And the old man is snoring," Ashlee poked her head out from under her make-shift shield, "you'd better not wake Grandpa. He finally went to bed!"

"Did he now? What was the problem this time?" He stopped moving and smiled down at her. "You can come out now; the flood is over."

"About time!"

"Noah had to wait forty days and forty nights."

"That was lame, Pat."

"Ahem, I asked what was wrong with Grandpa."

"Oh, he thought it was snowing outside, and that the snow was talking to him."

Patrick grimaced. "Yikes."

"Yeah. Oh, and he wanted Mom to be home. I had the hardest time getting him to understand that she was working late again tonight."

Another grimace. "I wish she wouldn't do that so much."

"Me, too," Ashlee sighed. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Pat."

"About Mom working late?"

"About me possibly finding a job."

His face grew visibly upset. "Absolutely not. There is no way you're getting a job."

Ashlee glared at him. "Come on, I don't mean a stressful one with long-days and overtime. I was thinking of a part-time job that would bring in a few extra dollars. Mom wouldn't have to work late all the time. You wouldn't have to work so much. Sixteen's plenty old enough for a part-time job."

"Ashlee, no."

"Patrick, there is no reason –"

"Oh yes there is, and we're not even going to go into this. Just drop it, Ash. Drop it."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Ashlee jutted her jaw out and refused to look at her brother. After a few minutes of silence, he nudged her and said in a soft voice, "You know, your muscles are going to cramp like that, and you'll be stuck looking like a pissed off monkey for the rest of sophomore year."

Frustrated as she was, Ashlee couldn't help but giggle. "How anyone is scared of you, Pat, I just don't know."

"I make myself scary," he said in a pleased tone. "And I don't offer any information about myself, so I'm a mystery to them."

"Oh, big whoop. Fantastic. Whatever. You're so special," Ashlee drawled.

Patrick snorted at her sarcasm. "Hey, you're not exactly an open book at school either."

"At least I don't go around lighting up in the classroom and killing my biology experiments with gusto."

"They're already dead, Ash."

"I know."

"And it's not with gusto; it's with interest."

Ashlee smiled up at him, "I know, Dr. Verona. I know."

He matched her look with a grin of his own. "You know what I think, Ash?"

"What?"

"It's past your bedtime."

She whirled to look at the clock. "But it's only ten-twenty!"

"You've had a long day."

"Only because I had to wait for you to get out of detention again," she shot back.

"Touché. Now, bed," he said, pointing towards the hall.

Gathering up her blanket and book, she narrowed her eyes at him, "Fine, I'm going, but you have to put the kettle on to boil so Mom can have some tea when she gets in."

"Goodnight, Ash."

She paused in the door and glanced back. "'Night, Pat." Then, halfway down the hall she turned again and called, "Kettle, now!"

Patrick's laugh carried from the living room. "I'm on my way right now."

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_**Author's Note:**_ And there's the first chapter. Let me know if I should continue it, please.

**-- pj**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. But I only own the OCs. I also don't own Fall Out Boy, Belinda Carlisle, Carly Simon, or Friends.

_**Author's Note:**_ So the first chapter was sort of the introduction. Starting with this one, the chapters are going to be significantly longer. I've been doing a ton of research and planning for this story, and I'm so excited about writing it! Thanks for the all reviews! I was pleasantly surprised to see people reading over the holidays! Here's chapter two: enjoy!

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Ashlee snuggled further under her covers and listened as the gentle hum of the washer and dryer filled the room. She was so tired! After a few more adjustments to find the most comfortable position, plus a couple of failed attempts to return to a subconscious state, Ashlee gave up and opened her eyes. Sunlight was peeking through the small window that sat high up in the opposite wall. It had to be close to noon. She lay there for a while longer, allowing her aching muscles to appreciate the luxury of relaxation, and studying the peeling puke green paint on the walls. Patrick kept saying he was going to paint the room a cheery mix of orange and pink, but he hadn't gotten around to fulfilling that promise yet. Ashlee couldn't blame him; he was so busy all the time: working two part-time jobs, completing his senior year of high school, and being the man of the house. Of course their mother, Lorraine, worked long hours at the hospital as a nurse and medical records officer, six days a week, trying to make ends meet. Times were hard, and oh god, she felt so useless.

Unbidden, her mind drifted to the previous year in Milwaukee. Grandpa Russ had been sick, resulting in the entire family moving out there to try and get him back on his feet. It was evident after a few months, though, that he wasn't going to be able to live by himself any longer. The family waited till the school year was over -- Lorraine didn't want to make Pat switch schools in the middle of junior year -- and moved back to Washington with Grandpa Russ. Ashlee, of course, hadn't been in school at all that year due to –

– angrily, her brain realized that she had been once again reminiscing. With a frustrated sigh, Ashlee pushed back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she set to work folding her covers and stacking them with her pillows on the dryer. Choosing to leave her bed open till she had changed from her pajamas, she crossed to her short dresser that was crammed in the corner. She had a good deal of French homework to complete today, secret hopes for a trip to the park, but also a doctor's appointment to attend. Deciding to go with comfortable yet presentable, Ashlee selected a pair of dark brown capris and a fitted blue t-shirt that read, "'Not a morning person' – doesn't even begin to cover it!" Pat had bought her the shirt the day before she started her sophomore year, again. With a shove, Ashlee pushed her bed into its futon position just as the washing machine finished its cycle and started the rinse. One bedroom successfully converted back into a laundry room. Ta da!

She grabbed her keys and backpack on the way out her door, only to stop when she realized the temperature of the rest of the house was significantly cooler than that in the stuffy room with the drying machine. Quickly, Ashlee went back and grabbed her brown hoodie from her dresser. The sweatjacket actually used to belong to Patrick, but he had long since outgrown it and she found it super comfie. Once in the kitchen, Ashlee retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with orange juice. Setting it on the counter, she looked to her left down the hall and then to her right into the living room. Both empty. As quickly as she could, she dropped to a squat and reached into the bottom cupboard, feeling around until her hand closed on her prized Honey Bunches of Oats. With a triumphant smile, Ashlee stood back up and was greeted by her brother's tall frame and loud rendition of –

"SATURDAY-EAH! When these open doors were open-ended! SATURDAY-EAH! When these open doors were open-ended! Yeah-yeah-yeah!"

"Pat!"

He stopped singing and stared at her innocently. "What?"

One hand on her racing heart, the other clutching her precious cereal tightly, Ashlee squeezed her eyes shut and tried to not laugh. "You're an idiot. Grandpa's probably asleep!"

"I can't slee—eep! In the wake of SATURDAY!"

"Yes Patrick, it's Saturday. Shut up!"

Laughing, he stepped past her and fetched her a bowl from the top shelf. "Grandpa's watching TV; I just checked on him."

"Thank you," Ashlee said, taking the bowl and pouring herself her breakfast for lunch. "So, what are you up to today?"

Patrick lifted himself up to sit on the counter across from his sister before answering her question. "Oh, I've got an English Lit. paper to write, and I think Dave's coming over to fix the bumper on the Rover."

She nodded. "Hey Pat, could you pass me the milk?"

"Yeah sure," he said, leaning over to open the fridge and hand her the carton. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Ash – which I'm not – but don't you have a hot date today with Dr. Harris?"

"Yes, I certainly do," she grinned evilly, "do you think you could paint my nails for it? I have the hardest time getting my left hand even!"

He flashed his wide devious smile that Ashlee loved so much. "That's because you're a darn leftie. When I paint my left hand, my nails look great."

With a snort, Ashlee began to eat her cereal. Through mouthfuls, she asked, "How was work this morning?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. 'I want a _large_ mocha frappuccino _light_, with only _two_ pumps of chocolate, _no_ chocolate drizzle but a _little_ caramel drizzle, and _no_ whipped cream. And make it snappy.'" Patrick accompanied the high-voiced impersonation with a blonde hair flip and big dumb eyes.

"You're getting better at that," his sister commented, trying to keep a straight face.

"I know."

"Egotist."

"Sadist."

"Loser."

"User."

"Sucker."

"Fu—never mind."

Ashlee giggled at her victory. "I win."

"You cheated," Patrick said, hopping down from his perch on the counter and swiping her cereal box.

"I know."

He rolled his eyes and reversed the game. "Egotist."

"Sadist."

"Loser."

"User."

"Sucker."

"Fucker."

His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. "Excuse me, Ashlee?"

She hid her smile behind her head, ducking forward in glee. "I win."

With a calculated expression, Patrick shook her Honey Bunches of Oats in front of her to make sure she was watching him. Then he opened up the bottom cupboard and put the cereal back in her hiding place.

"You've been spying on me!" she demanded.

"I win," he replied before heading out the front door.

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Two hours later found Ashlee still huddled over the island counter in the kitchen. Stupid French. Why did she have to learn French? It wasn't as if she was ever going to visit France! If the Verona family ever scrounged up enough money to go on vacation, they certainly wouldn't be going to hoity-toity old France!

"Lorraine?" a shaky voice called from down the hall.

Snapping, her French book shut, Ashlee stood and stretched. Then she quickly padded down the hall to the bedroom that Patrick shared with Grandpa Russ. "Grandpa?" she asked, knocking on the slightly ajar door.

"Lorraine?"

"No, Grandpa, it's Ashlee. Do you need something?"

"Where's Lorraine?"

"She's at work, Grandpa. Would you like a cup of tea?"

The door suddenly opened all the way, nearly pulling Ashlee into the dark room with the unexpected vacuum of air it created. Her grandfather stood in the doorway, his eyes wide. "Oh, hello, Ashlee. How are you today, sweetie?"

"Um, I'm fine."

"Ashlee, I need Lorraine. I need her to make me some Earl Grey."

"I can make you a cup, Grandpa."

He smiled. "Thanks, sweetie. Now, I've got to run; _Friends_ is on."

Ashlee stared at the door as it shut in her face. With a sigh, she turned and headed back for the kitchen. Grandpa Russ was ever so slowly, but ever increasingly, going off his rocker. It made her sad; he used to be a Biology professor at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee and one of the most intelligent people she had ever met. He had been the one to encourage Patrick's love of dissection. He had helped them out a lot when they had moved back to the States. He had accepted Mum again, even though he hadn't ever approved of her running off with Dad. To see him losing his memories and sanity was heartbreaking.

"How's the French coming?" Patrick asked as he came through the front door with Dave.

Startled from her thoughts, Ashlee nearly dropped the teacup she was holding.

"Careful," Pat warned.

"Um, the French is being a butt like it always is. How's the bumper?"

"Well, seeing how the bumper actually is considered the _butt_ of the car…"

"Shut up, Patrick. Geeze! _Dave_, how's the bumper?"

Dave fake-coughed. He was tall, like Patrick, but a lot skinnier. Not that Pat was fat or anything; her brother just had some muscle…and hair. The Mohawk that Dave sported was shaved on either side, and the kid had tattoos littering his skeletal arms. Patrick and him had been friends before Milwaukee and before the wardrobe and body remodel. "The bumper is now fixed," he announced. Despite the appearance change, Dave was still good old Dave. Ashlee didn't mind him, especially seeing how he kept Pat out of trouble a lot.

"Pat, could you make yourself useful and go take this tea to Grandpa?"

He took the offered cup without a protest and left the room. As he was leaving, Dave moved to look down at Ashlee's pages of scribbled homework. "I could always help you with that. My second stepdad was Canadian and spoke French."

Dave was an emancipated minor, living with a couple roommates in the apartment complex down the street. He had been through a lot of stepdads and a lot of crap before winning his independence in court. And he spoke French? "Okay," Ashlee began, "let's start with you telling me if I'm pronouncing this right. Jeh bluh bley bluh, fraynqua tulee too poo?"

The punk's face remained impassive. It seemed that only the strangest things amused him, and surprisingly such occurrences rarely had to do with Ashlee. "I take it my accent was slightly off, right?" she asked.

"Slightly. And I have no idea what you were trying to say."

Ashlee laughed. "That's cause I wasn't saying anything, duh!"

"Tulee too poo?" Patrick inquired from the hall doorway.

"Never mind," his sister said, rolling her eyes. "Now, Pat, we have to hurry or I'll be late for my date. You do realize that I haven't forgotten about your promise to paint my nails, _n'est-pas_?"

Glancing at his watch, Patrick wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. "Phew, there's no time for that. We have just enough time to get there by three. Come on. I'll go tell Grandpa that we're leaving and make sure he's set for a few hours. Bye Dave."

Ashlee watched Dave exit the house before she began shoving all her French books and notebooks into her backpack. She'd have to finish the last exercise that evening. Moving into the living room, she rummaged around the base of the couch until she found her purse that she had left there the previous night. Purse? Check. Hoodie? Check. Keys? Check. Patrick?

"You ready to go?

Check. "Yep," she answered, taking his offered arm and stepping out into the bright yet chilly November sunlight. Another reason Seattle won over Milwaukee: it had way less snow!

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"Have a good day, Miss Verona."

Ashlee flashed a small smile to the receptionist, "You too, Millie." The appointment had gone pretty uneventful. Pull out the charts. Check pulse. Do some tests. Ask a few questions. Jot down some notes. Offer a tootsie pop from the giant fishbowl of candy. Yes, very routine.

"Patrick?" she asked as she came down the steps outside Dr. Harris's office building and saw the Rover sitting there, empty. A muffled grunt came from around the corner, and Ashlee made it there in time to see Patrick snuff out his cigarette and shove a wad of gum into his mouth. Her brother looked at her guiltily and quickly disposed of the used butt in his can of Pepsi. "That's so gross, Pat."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't expect you out so soon, otherwise I would have gotten rid of it earlier."

"It's not like I don't know you're smoking whenever I'm not around, but I was talking more about the fact that you just dropped your cigarette in your soda."

His lips twitched in slight amusement as he studied the aluminum can in his hands. "I was done with it anyways."

Ashlee watched as he tossed the can in the trash and headed back to the car. "You should quit though," she called after him.

"Yeah, I know."

"They give you cancer, Pat."

His face contorted, then relaxed. "I know, Ashlee. I know."

The sincerity in his voice made her stop for a second. She knew he was trying to quit, and she knew it must be very difficult otherwise he would have already done so and put the habit behind him. Opening the passenger door, Ashlee climbed up into her seat. Patrick followed suit, turning the key in the ignition and setting off a blast of loud rock music.

"Sorry!" he yelled, quickly switching the radio off. "I forgot I had that on."

"I thought you were supposed to be writing your paper for Mr. Morgan while I was in there, not rocking out."

"I finished it."

Ashlee made a face. "You finished your paper already?"

"Yeah, it's an easy class."

"Just the same, I'm glad I don't have him. He's so…volatile."

"Hey, he puts Donner in his place. A lot. Any teacher who'll call Donner on his shit is all right in my book."

Watching as the doctor's office disappeared the side mirror, Ashlee let out a long breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Are you okay?" Patrick asked immediately.

"Hmmm?" she looked over, "I'm fine. Watch the road, will you?" Absently, she reached over and turned the radio on.

The sound of Belinda Carlisle came spilling from the speakers. "_They say in heaven love comes first. We'll make heaven a place on earth._"

"This is such a stupid song," Patrick complained, changing the channel.

"_You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you_!" Carly Simon's sassy voice joined them in the car.

"This is music!" Patrick shouted in a relieved tone, before joining in. "You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you!"

"Don't you! Don't you!" Ashlee added her voice to the mix.

Laughing, the two of them rocked out through several more oldies and somehow managed to stay driving on the right side of the road. Eventually, Patrick tried to say something over the noise and Ashlee had to turn the stereo off to hear him. "WHAT?" she yelled, then shrank against her seat, startled at the sudden volume of her question in the now quiet car.

"I SAID," Patrick shouted, still not used the cutback on decibel level either, "DO YOU WANT TO STOP AT THE PARK?"

"SURE!"

"CAN WE STOP YELLING NOW?"

"OKAY!"

He laughed. "Good, cause it's bad enough having to yell over the machinery all day Sunday. I can't exactly lose my voice, now can I? I mean, I don't think that would help my image at school."

"Oh please, it's not like you actually talk to anyone there. Well, besides Dave."

"Yeah, but say I needed to tell someone to bugger off or something. It could be potentially hazardous to both myself and the second party if I was unable to vocalize such instructions."

"Please, Pat," Ashlee rolled her eyes, "You know the only reason you care is because you don't want to miss your daily flirtation ritual with Ms. Perky."

Her brother made gagging sounds from the driver's seat. "I swear, I think that woman has written me in as a character in her latest novel. Every time I'm in there, she's eyeing me in this really freaky way. I just know that when I leave her office, she writes all these terrifying things about my character's sex life."

"You egg her on."

"True, but I egg everyone on."

Ashlee nodded her emphatic agreement as they pulled into the little park/playground's parking lot next to a cute pink BMW.

"Ah shit," Patrick grumbled as he took in the group of four teenage girls playing Frisbee on the green lawn. The siblings clambered out of the car and slammed the doors, Patrick keeping his head down.

"Speaking of your sex life, Pat," Ashlee began slowly as they made their way through the colorful metal gates.

He cut her off with a knowing look, "Don't even go there, Ash."

"Oh come on! You haven't dated in forever! Since Tina, I think," she paused, "Ewww, seriously, it _was_ Tina! What the heck, Pat?"

"Tina? Really?" He look mildly surprised at this fact.

Ashlee sat down on a swing. "Yeah, Pat, it was Tina. That was, what, right after we moved to Milwaukee? That makes it like, over a year since you've been on a date!"

Patrick looked deep in thought for a moment. Then he shrugged. "So? Have you seen the girls around here?"

Ashlee cleared her throat.

"You excluded, but I can't date you, Ash!"

"Darn right, you can't," she confirmed as he sat on the swing next to her.

"Well, you've seen the girls in your class. They're all interested in their clothes and their shoes and their makeup and their stuff and their yadayadayada."

"No," Ashlee denied innocently, "I don't have anyone coughBiancaStratfordcough like that in my class."

Patrick smiled. "Yeah, that Stratford girl fits the bill for sure; all the girls in senior year are like that."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating, Pat. I mean, come on, there has to be at least one girl who doesn't care what people think. You only need one! Wait, you do still like girls, right?"

"Ash."

"What?" she said rather grumpily, pushing off the ground with her legs.

"Quit trying to set me up, okay? I'm too busy to be in a relationship right now."

She bit her lip, watching his face very carefully. Finally, she announced in a bland voice, "You're just covering for the fact that no girl wants you."

"Ooof!" Patrick yelped suddenly, falling backwards off his swing and holding his stomach. Ashlee swiveled in mid-air to see him hit the sand with his eyes squeezed shut.

"Pat?"

"Oh god, owwww!"

She jumped from her swing and ran to his side. "Pat, are you okay?"

One of his eyes popped open, taking in her concerned expression. Then he stopped groaning and smiled. "Ow! Your harsh words hurt me so much!"

"Ass."

"I pass."

"Wimp. I still win."

"That's only because I let you win," he said, pulling his feet down from the swing so he lay flat in the playground sand.

Ashlee sighed. "Do you know how many cats use this place as a litter-box? Not to mention how many little kids have accidents here?"

He was standing in a flash, swaying slightly from the sudden change in altitude. She gave him a tight smile.

"Hey!" a female voice called, "are you okay?"

The Verona siblings turned as one and saw the four Frisbee players jogging over. Pat clenched his teeth.

"Be nice, Pat," Ashlee warned.

"Oh my gosh, we saw you fall!" one of the girls exclaimed.

"Are you all right?" another asked.

Patrick was silent, boring into them with a piercing stare.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" the third girl said, stepping forward. Suddenly her eyes got big. "Oh, hi. You go to Padua, don't you?"

Patrick kept staring.

The girl continued, "Right, you're in my Biology class – oh _god_!"

All four girls looked at each other and took a step back. The last girl gave Ashlee an almost pitiful glance. "Are _you_ okay?" she asked.

Ashlee elbowed her brother. "I'm fine. He's fine. We're all fine. Pat was just messing around. Thanks. Bye."

They made sounds of offense at her snappish tone, then turned and stalked back to the lawn muttering about ducks and porn careers. Patrick gave them the finger.

"Come on," Ashlee said, taking his hand and shutting it in hers, "let's get home."

He followed her back to the car without saying a word. Once on the road again, Patrick turned the radio on to the classical station to fill the silence. Ashlee leaned her head against the window, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her. Patrick was obviously upset, but there wasn't anything she could do about that at the moment. The last comprehensive thought that passed through her brain was about the French homework she wasn't going to complete tonight after all. Within a mile from the park, she was sound asleep.

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_**Author's Note:**_ Wow, I really wasn't expecting to update this soon, but I couldn't stop writing. Let me know what you think! Peace out!

**-- pj**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. But I only own the OCs.

_**Author's Note:**_ I have no excuse for not updating. I've been busy, but who hasn't? Anyway, I have the entire story planned out, so I *will* finish it! I put the entire movie into storyboard format and found it makes no sense whatsoever, so I will be taking some liberties with the timeline! Also, I lied when I said the whole story would be from Ashlee's POV. **To prove it, here's a chapter from Patrick's POV**.

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Patrick sat on the front porch, glaring at his large combat boots. It had been a long weekend: Saturday filled with work, car repairs, and chauffeuring Ashlee around, Sunday spent at the furniture shop. Now, seven-ten, Monday morning, his mind was still ablaze with confusion and frustration. He had tried to act surprised when Ashlee brought up the fact, at the park, that he hadn't dated since Tina. Since Milwaukee. Since everything had come crashing down. He knew that his sister had been thinking on the subject for some time, and he could only hope that she didn't know how hard he tried not to do the same. The whole thing was a giant mess, true, but one aspect was very clear to him. He was not going to date anyone, for _any_ reason, till everything was finished. Even then, he had a difficult time imagining himself in a relationship again. Sure, there were girls he thought were hot, girls who made him remember the innuendo filled banter he used to exchange with previous crushes and girlfriends. But he had a responsibility now that he didn't have then. That responsibility was more important to him than anything else in his entire life.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Ashlee's voice cut into his definite decisions in the romantic department. "A penny?" he found himself asking over his shoulder, "Excuse me, my thoughts are worth far more than a penny."

"How about a dime then?" The screen door opened and his sister joined him on the porch step.

"Actually, my current going rate is $37.50. Per thought."

She laughed. "Sorry, I could barely afford the dime!"

Patrick glanced over, biting his lip. "The first thought is free though."

"And what's that?"

"We're going to be late for school," he said, shaking his keys in front of her face. Before he could react, she grabbed them and took off running for the Suburban. "Ashlee," he called after her, "You're not driving!"

The car roared to life.

Rolling his eyes, Patrick jogged over to the driver's door. "Ash, scoot your big butt over. I'm not letting my little sister drive me to school! That will send me back several badass points."

The old Chevy slowly started moving backwards out of the driveway. Patrick walked beside it, tapping the window obnoxiously. "We're only going to be more late now!"

The vehicle stopped moving. Pulling open the door, Patrick swung himself up into the vacated driver's seat. Ashlee was in the process of buckling herself on the passenger's side. She was also holding a semi-warm cup of coffee. "It _was_ hot," he informed her as he finished backing out into the street.

"I know," she said as she went to take a sip.

He smiled. "So, I guess you really don't want to be late for school since you gave up the wheel."

"No," Ashlee answered, now grinning in return as she lifted her coffee cup, "but I've been told not to drink and drive."

And for the second time in two minutes, Patrick rolled his eyes.

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Pulling into his designated spot in the senior parking lot at Padua, Patrick couldn't help but clench his teeth. He hated this place. These people. Their ignorance.

"Pa-aat," sang his sister, knowingly, "you can't start the school day already pissed off!"

He looked over to where she sat chewing on her fingernails with her feet propped up on the dashboard. "What makes you think I'm already pissed off?" he tried half-heartedly.

"You're relaxed smile, Mr. Cheerful."

Patrick watched as she slid her tennis shoes clad feet down to the floor and opened her door. With a wave, she was off, speed walking towards the main entrance in an attempt to minimize her tardiness. He shook his head. There was no way he was going to run to make homeroom today. Not that it mattered: he'd just talk to Mr. Fox later during Calculus. Resting his head against the back of his seat, Patrick sighed. Another day of frightened glances in his direction. Another day of quiet, or not so quiet, whispering behind his back. Another day of idiotic bullshit all around him.

Tina? He couldn't get the thought out of his head. Girls. Dating. Impossible. Ashlee was normally so good at reading him, so good at understanding how he felt without needing him to explain. Why couldn't she get it? And then what the hell was with her ridiculous suggestion of her getting a job! What was she thinking? Wasn't it bad enough already? Didn't he feel guilty enough as it was? And just what did she plan on doing? Working at the coffee shop with him? At four in the morning, every morning? She was worried about him, he knew that. But that wasn't her job. She was supposed to be carefree and leave the worrying to him. Angrily, he dug a cigarette from his pocket, rolled down the window, and lit up. Stupid habit, he berated himself. He didn't miss the pain in her eyes every time she caught him smoking. He couldn't ignore the hurt that came with her requests for him to quit. Still, he needed the calming feel of nicotine in his lungs. He needed the strength the addiction gave him.

"Mr. Verona," a sharp voice cut into his thoughts.

Yanking his self-created image up around him like a shield, Patrick turned and gave Principal Meyers a blank look.

"Mr. Verona, may I ask why you are in your car and not in class?"

Taking another drag on his cigarette, Patrick raised his eyebrows, "All my homework's done so I didn't feel like spending homeroom listening to my fellow student body shitting around."

"Understandable, Mr. Verona, but may I ask why you are, once again, breaking school rules by smoking on campus?"

He met Principal Meyers' pointed stare with a half-lidded one of his one. "Cause Ashlee and I were running late."

At the mention of Ashlee's name, Principal Meyers face softened and she nodded. "Okay, Patrick, fair enough. But you know I have to ask you to put the cigarette out at least."

With a shrug, he complied, shoving a wad of gum into his mouth in its place.

"Patrick," the woman tried kindly, "Patrick, we're rooting for you. We want you to graduate and we want you to be happy. If there's anything more that we can do for you…" She trailed off, her eyes swimming with sympathy.

Patrick swallowed hard. He could feel the familiar anger rising as Principal Meyers stood expecting him to answer and spill his deepest pains and fears. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took long breath to keep his temper at bay. "Thanks for the – concern, Principal," he managed to mutter.

"I'll be in my office if you ever need to talk, and Mr. Freeden is always available as well if you need an evaluation. And then there's always Ms. Perky."

Setting his jaw, Patrick refused to look at her.

"Don't miss your next class, Mr. Verona. And I would like to see you in my office at some point today."

He listened as her high-heeled footsteps moved away from the suburban. After several minutes of mindless chewing, Patrick finally spit out his gum and sat all the way up. Running his hands through his unruly curls, he forced himself to get a grip. He was Patrick Verona: Padua's resident badass with the killer sarcastic smile that made everyone melt and take a step back at the same time. There was no place for sullenness, moodiness, or depression. Grabbing his backpack from the back seat, Patrick opened his door and jumped down to the pavement. Here he went again.

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And here he went again, Patrick groaned inwardly. He'd managed to stay clear of Ms. Perky's all morning, through World History, Spanish, Psychology, and Calculus. Funnily enough, it had been his little bratwurst joke with Ms. Yuan the Lunch lady that had him heading into the den of terror. Judith, the front desk secretary looked up from her phone conversation and gave him a tight smile. Covering the mouthpiece, she whispered, "Perky's got a new kid in there right now, but knowing her they'll be done in a few moments. You can wait on the bench."

He flashed her his trademark grin, and headed for the door, ignoring the bench entirely. The shrill voice of Padua's not-so-helpful guidance counselor wafted out of the room beyond.

"Same little ass-wipe shit for brains everywhere!"

Oh god, he almost sympathized with the poor newbie in the office.

"Excuse me?" Patrick heard the new kid say in a bewildered voice, "Did you just say – am I in the right office?"

"Not anymore you're not. I've got deviants to see and a novel to finish. Now scoot!"

Patrick cringed. That's where he'd picked up the word. He was never going to tell Ashlee to 'scoot' over again!

"Scoot!"

"Okay…uh…uh…thanks…" the sound of bumping around came from the office, and Patrick decided it was time to make his entrance. As he moved into the doorway, Patrick was met by the sight of a very confused looking boy stumbling backwards and accidentally crashing into the wall. The two of them came face to face. Patrick put on his first impression stare, which worked. The new kid's eyes widened and he broke the gaze and hurried away.

"Patrick Verona," Ms. Perky crowed from behind her desk. "I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual."

"Only so we can have these moments together." Ashlee was right. He did egg her on. "Should I hit the lights?"

"Oh, very clever kangaroo boy." Oh, she was _so_ clever herself. Him being from Australia. Kangaroo. It was _hilarious_. "It says here that you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?"

Sigh. Here went nothing. "I was joking with the lunch lady. It was a bratwurst."

"Bratwurst?" Oh god, was she eyeing his…she was. Oh god. "Aren't we the optimist?"

The woman never failed to amaze and disgust him. How on earth did she get the position of _guidance_ counselor?

"Look, Verona, I know you and your family are going through some tough times. That doesn't excuse some of these misconducts in your behavior." _Now_ she was going all counselor-ish? "The answer isn't in acting out, Mr. Verona. So next time, keep it in your pouch." _Again_, the Australia jokes were _lame_. "Now scoot!"

She was heading back for her laptop, Patrick realized in horror. Bratwurst. Himself. Somehow she was going to fit that into her story about his sex life. He left the office as quickly as he could.

"Hey Patrick," Judith, the secretary, asked as he returned to the main office, "Meyers said you should stop in and see her now."

He nodded and gave her a mock salute before turning and knocking on the door to the Principal's office.

"Come in."

Pushing the door open, Patrick stepped into the orderly – sane – room that he frequented quite often.

"Good afternoon, Patrick. How was your visit to Ms. Perky?"

He snorted as he took a seat. "For the millionth time, why is she our guidance counselor?"

"She has all the degrees and experience for the job, Patrick. I think you need to give her a break. It's not as if you actually _like_ any of the faculty here. Or any of the students for that matter."

"One of these days, I'm going to tape record the kind of stuff that goes on in there and you're going to be shocked at some of the shit she says."

"I'm sure," Principal Meyers said with a sigh. "Look Patrick, I didn't bring you in here to keep harping on your…not-so-great choices. I want to speak with you about your possibilities and opportunities for the future."

"Okay." Why did they try to label it as something different? It all was the same.

"Patrick, you turn your homework in. You get good grades. Your attendance is usually all right. But the attitude you give your teachers and fellow students is awful. I understand the whole deal at home, however, as we are not at liberty to discuss any of your family affairs publicly, I have a hard time not punishing you for your rule breaking." Principal Meyers stopped in her kindly rant and rubbed her eyes with a manicured hand. Then, looking back up and catching Patrick's wary gaze, she sighed. "You're very smart, Patrick. You have the ability to go places! To go to college! You want to be a doctor, am I correct?"

He bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah. Dr. Verona. That's me."

"A fine career choice, and your grades are good enough to get you into just about any pre-med program in the country."

"I'm not interested in 'any pre-med program in the country,' Principal Meyers. I'm going to Seattle U."

"Alright, but work on the attitude, Patrick. Your teachers are trying to be sympathetic, but some of them are at the end of their patience. And not to mention, Ashlee must be tired of people avoiding her because of you."

"Keeps her out of harm's way at least," Patrick shrugged, trying to keep up his nonchalant act.

"She's nearly seventeen. Quit being the overly protective father and let her have some fun. And you should have some fun, too. You're still a kid as well, okay?"

He fixed her with a piercing glare. Somehow this woman managed to weasel her way past all of his defenses. Every damn time. Father? He wasn't acting like her father; their father was an asshole. "Is that all you wanted to say to me?"

"Well, you can tell your mother hello from me."

"Mmhmm." Standing up from the chair, he focused his will power on not gritting his teeth.

"And thanks for your time, Patrick. Let me write you a late pass. What class?"

"English Lit."

"Ah, Mr. Morgan," she said as she scribbled the details onto the sheet of paper. "Here you go."

Patrick raised his eyebrows as he accepted the note. "Gee thanks, Principal. I loved our little chat, by the way. See you soon."

His quick exit was accompanied by a long sigh of aggravation from the behind the desk.

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"Get back here!"

_SLAM!_

So much for improving his "attitude" like Principal Meyers had asked, Patrick thought as he registered Mr. Morgan's frustrated yell. There hadn't been any homework for English Lit anyway, just reading Hemingway, which he had done. Screw the discussion time. He didn't particularly feel like listening to Stratford and Donners go at it again. Besides, he was coming down with a killer headache and if he was going to make it through biology, he was going to need some quiet time and a cigarette.

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_Brriiiiiinnngg_

The final bell. Thank god. The headache was still there, and for once Woodshop was excruciating. Something about electric drills and hammers didn't mix well with a migraine.

"I'll bring my wood finish from home; I don't trust the shit they have here," Dave grumbled as the two of them left the classroom and began to navigate their way through the crowds.

Patrick forced a grin. "I think the school stocked up on that stuff back when they built the place. It's a wonder they haven't combusted yet. Say, that's something we haven't done yet – "

" – Whoah Pat," Ashlee yelped as the boys turned a corner and nearly knocked her to the floor. "I was just coming to find you. What are you guys up to?"

"Patrick wants to light the wood fixative from woodshop class on fire and blow up the school," Dave deadpanned.

Ashlee laughed and looked at her brother with a devious smile. "Really? I always knew you were a closeted pyro."

"I was thinking about setting them off in Perky's office," he said, wiggling his eyebrows evilly as they pushed past other swarming students to get out the main entrance.

"Oh, speaking of Ms. Perky, what's this about you…uh…'revealing' yourself at lunch, Pat?"

He growled at her delighted tone of voice. "Fallacy. I did no such thing. And where did you hear about it anyways?"

"Hon, it's all over school," Ashlee giggled, patting his arm in mock comfort. Then she rolled her eyes, "Besides, I have to sit next to Mia Cromwell in Statistics – apparently she was next to you in line and she saw the whole 'fallacy' and couldn't shut up about how big a – "

"—and I'm done with this conversation," Dave announced, refusing to look at either sibling.

Reaching over and taking Ashlee's backpack from her, Patrick nodded his agreement. "I think I am done talking about that, too."

Ashlee smirked as she watched him shoulder her bag. "I win."

"There you two go again. I'm out," Dave droned as they reached the parking lot, his face as impassive as ever.

Patrick flashed him a smile. "Alright, man. Don't forget that wood finish."

"I won't. Don't the forget the matches."

Coughing to hide her amusement, Ashlee ducked around the side of the green Chevy and banged on the locked passenger door. Unlocking the driver's side, Patrick climbed inside and reached over to help his sister in. She grinned and immediately propped her feet up on the seat underneath her. Together they waved at Dave's retreating form.

"How was your day," Ashlee asked as they slowly drove through the parking lot.

Patrick barely heard her, his attention drawn by a large crowd gathering at the crest of the hill overlooking the football field. Some idiot must have done something incredibly stupid over in that direction.

"Pat, I asked how was your day?"

Turning his attention back to his driving and his sister, Patrick pulled onto the main road. "It was fine. Do you have any Tylenol on you by chance?"

"Did you make anyone cry today?" Ashlee's brown eyes twinkled as she handed him three Tylenol.

He swallowed them dry. "Not yet, but I scared the shit out of the new kid."

"Congratulations, Pat. That is quite an accomplishment. It wouldn't have to do with your trips to both Meyer's and Perky's offices today, would it?"

"Who told you about those?"

"Principal Meyers."

"Wait…when did you see her?"

"When _I_ had to pay her a visit today."

The old Chevy swerved as Patrick swore. Ashlee held onto her door handle and waited till he seemed more in control. "Pat, she just wanted to see how I was doing."

"So she called you to her office during a class?" He felt her eyes boring into the side of his face. "What?"

"She's worried about you, Pat. She thinks you're depressed and unhappy."

"Ash," Patrick groaned, "can we not talk about me, for one second?"

"No! Can we not talk about _me_ for one second?! God, Pat, do you know how tired I am that this entire family revolves around me?! I just want you to be happy!"

Guilt coursed through him as she began to cry. She wasn't supposed to cry. He made _other_ people cry, not her. "Ashlee, I'm sorry. It's alright, I am happy! How could I not be? I've got you, and Mum, and Grandpa. It's going to be okay."

She continued to sniffle, her face pressed against her window. Patrick waited, unsure of what to do next. "I love you, Ash," he said quietly. When she didn't reply, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for a long drive home.

Twelve minutes and thirty-four seconds of silence later, he turned the short suburban onto their street. Ashlee still had her face pressed against the window, refusing to look at him. Suddenly, she sat up in surprise, "Why is Mum home?

Patrick's eyes darted to the small two-tone T-bird that rested in the usually empty spot in the driveway. Pulling in beside it, he cut the engine and ran for the house. He heard Ashlee trying to keep up behind him as he threw open the front door. "Mum?"

Lorraine Parker sat on the beat up living room sofa, her head in her hands. At the sound of her son's noisy entrance, she glanced up wearily to meet his questioning gaze. "Ms. Forrest called, Pat," she began as Ashlee's head appeared by her brother's shoulder. "Grandpa got out and was wandering around the neighborhood."

"What?" Ashlee pushed her way past Patrick, ducking to fit under his arm. "Is Grandpa okay?"

Lorraine nodded. "She brought him back here, but she didn't want to leave him alone because of the broken glass."

As she said the words, Patrick became aware of the numerous shards of glass that lay around the kitchen and living room. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, moving quickly over to sit next to his mother and sister. "Mum, what happened?"

"He broke all the dishes, and he got out by himself. I was hoping this wouldn't happen. I was hoping it wouldn't get this bad," Lorraine breathed in a torrent of words as she absently patted Ashlee's arm repeatedly.

Patrick frowned. Grandpa Russ had been steadily growing more and more mentally unstable. Deep down, everyone had known it was only a matter of time before he'd be unsafe to leave alone. "So, how are we going to deal with this?" he ventured, running through the short list of options in his head.

No one wanted to answer. Finally Ashlee stood up. "Come on, Pat," she said quietly, "Let's get this place cleaned up." He watched as she headed for the small closet off the hall where they kept the broom and dustpan. Together, the two of them swept up all the broken glass, stopping every now and then to lament over the loss of a prized dish.

"Remember this one, Pat?" Ashlee held up a large shard of turquoise glass that had once been a plate. "I made it for you in art camp back in Sydney! I painted your hair yellow instead of brown and I spelled your name with the 'a' backwards."

He nodded. "Yep, and I got in trouble for pointing that out to you."

Dinner was a solemn affair. Grandpa Russ refused to come to the table, and the three remaining members of the family sat around the small table in silence. Patrick watched as Lorraine pushed and stirred her vegetables around in mindless circles. Ashlee was no better; her utensils lay untouched next to her plate. He only managed a few bites of the leftover meatloaf himself.

"Well, we all know there is no way to avoid unpleasant things. We have to talk about it because the problem won't just disappear." Ashlee's words startled Lorraine into dropping her fork.

Patrick was silent for a moment. They didn't have many options, but it was going to be a painful decision. "It's simple really," he said, "I'll stay home."

"Absolutely not!" Lorraine found her voice and glared at her only son.

It wasn't the first time he had suggested leaving school, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. His mum never would allow it though.

"I'll get a job so Mum can be home more."

Both mother and brother turned to look at Ashlee, who had crossed her arms over her chest. "Absolutely not, young lady," they exclaimed in one voice.

Ashlee wasn't to be deterred. "Then I'll stay home. It's not like I have a chance at college."

"Absolutely not!" they repeated.

"Can you two say anything other than that?"

"Absolutely not!"

She made a huge show of rolling her eyes. "Funny," she muttered, pushing her chair away from the table.

"Ash," Patrick began. He knew better than to push her too far, and she'd already shown herself to be in a more fragile state today. "Ash, you know why you can't do that."

"Really? Do I? Why don't you refresh my memory."

He watched as she stalked from the room. As he rose to follow her, Lorraine placed a hand on his arm. "Let me handle this one, Patrick. She's not upset at you, just at the situation."

"We all are."

She swallowed hard. "Her, more than us, remember."

He finished his dinner alone.

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The next few hours were spent making sure the last of the glass was up and completing his calculus homework. His mother must have found something to do after her talk with Ashlee. Finally she reappeared, and Patrick only gave her enough time to sit down before he started speaking. "Mum, I'm dropping out of school. Grandpa shouldn't have to spend his last months in an impersonal institution. He should be with family."

"You are not leaving school, young man. Besides, I've already made the phone call."

"I'm eighteen, Mum. It's my choice."

"Patrick, you have to get your diploma. You have to think of your future."

"It's a little hard to do that right now while I'm trying to live in the present as long as it lasts. Besides, sending him to an Alzheimer's home is going to severely restrict our budget – ah-ah," he held up his hands to stop her certain contradiction, "I know you hate it when I talk money, but it has to be done – and you can't possible work any more hours than you are already working. Come to think of it, the hours you work right now are ridiculous beyond all measure."

Lorraine shook her head. "No, son. I'm fine, and we'll manage. Don't think that I like ditching my father in an institution any more than you do, but it's the only feasible option. You are not quitting school. I will not allow it, nor will your sister."

His mum sighed, lowering her head into her hands. Seating himself beside her on the sofa, Patrick wrapped his arms around her slumped shoulders. "It's going to work out, Mum. I know it will."

"I'm so scared, Patrick. I don't want to loose someone else. It's already so hard; I just can't…" she trailed off into soft whimpers.

"Shhh, Mum. I'll stay in school, and we'll put Grandpa in the Home. We'll visit him all the time, and I'll get more hours at Starbucks -- and I can even take up some odd jobs on the side -- to keep finances easier. It'll be okay."

Lorraine lifted her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "You know, Patrick, I spent my whole childhood dreaming of what my adult life was going to be like. I never imagined it would play out like this. If only Jack…" she sniffed loudly and rested her head back on Patrick's arm.

He flinched at her words, then offered, "Let me make you some tea, Mum." At his mother's nod, he rose and slipped into the kitchen. Pulling a portable coffee thermos from the near-empty dish cupboard, Patrick proceeded to smash the contents of the tea bag into even smaller pieces with a spoon. Damn Jack Verona. The man was responsible for so much of the family's pain, and he didn't deserve the love Lorraine still had for him. It had been eight years since Jack had walked out on the three of them, eight years since Patrick had inherited the job as Man of the House.

Still fuming, Patrick set the kettle on the stovetop to heat, and then tiptoed down the narrow hallway to check on Grandpa Russ and Ashlee. His grandfather was snoring loudly from the bottom bunk in the "Boys'" Room, the lights still blazing and the curtains wide open. Patrick quickly closed the blinds and flipped the light switches before he left. Pushing open the door to Ashlee small makeshift bedroom, Patrick sighed. The flickering light from his sister's Sleeping Beauty nightlight illuminated the disgusting vomit green color of the walls. He'd been meaning to paint the walls of the room a more cheery color for months, but he never seemed to have the time. Ashlee was sound asleep, curled into a sideways ball, her hair spilling around her like a lion's mane. She looked older, her worries not lifted during slumber. After depositing a light kiss on his sister's forehead, Patrick left the room.

Back in the living room, he found Lorraine passed out on the couch. With a sigh, he removed her glasses and gently placed a pillow under her neck. Grabbing an extra blanket on his way back from turning off the teakettle, he draped it over her exhausted form. It was a ritual that happened far too often, in his opinion. His mother needed more time to rest. He needed more time to work. Grandpa Russ just needed more time. And Ashlee – Ashlee needed more time to be a kid. Fighting back the lump that was growing in his throat, Patrick went to finish his paper for World History. Tomorrow would be another day.

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_**Author's Note**_**:** What's the verdict? Good or bad? All comments or criticisms are welcome!

**-- pj**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. I only own the OCs.

_**Author's Note:**_ Merry Almost Christmas! It's been nearly a year since I started this story, and I know I haven't gotten very far along yet, but it is moving! Thanks to all my reviewers and readers. A special note to Lion8520: I'm going to keep Pat's friend as Dave since I've already been calling him that (and I really dislike the name Scurvy) but thank you for pointing that out.

I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!

* * *

In the end, Patrick skipped school the next day. The Alzheimer's Home needed till the end of the week to process the paperwork; a month was the usual wait, but after hearing the situation, an exception had been made. However, it was plain that Grandpa Russ could no longer be left alone, so Patrick had gotten his way and was able to miss Tuesday at Padua. Ashlee was still frustrated by this fact as she crept into Homeroom five minutes before the ending bell.

"Excuse me," said an unfamiliar woman from behind the desk where Mrs. Strickner usually sat.

Ashlee stopped and pulled out a late note that Patrick had written for her. She handed the folded piece of paper over and stepped back. Mrs. Strickner must have been feeling poorly. That was too bad. She was a dear old lady, and quite frankly, Ashlee wasn't warming to the crabby substitute.

"I suppose you find this funny, Ashlee." The woman spoke her name as if it tasted vile.

"I beg your pardon?" Panic flared in her mind. She hadn't bothered to read the note herself. They had used the note tactic before when they had been running late, but Mrs. Strickner had never called them on it.

The substitute cleared her throat and read the note in a sarcastic voice, 'Leave Ashlee the _fuck_ alone. She's late because I'm a _fucking_ idiot. Signed, Patrick.'"

Ashlee winced at the overly accentuated expletives. "I'm sorry, my brother's not always the most delicate." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized they sounded quite disingenuous.

"Principal's office, now. I insist you show her this note."

Taking the outstretched note from the substitute's hand, Ashlee headed for the office. Only five minutes into the day and she was in trouble. If she didn't be careful, she was going to turn into Patrick in no time.

* * *

Lunch was a traditional thing for Ashlee. Patrick and Dave usually disappeared so they could smoke, so she had taken to sitting at the end of the "outcast by choice" table – also known as The Shrew's Table. Of course, the cafeteria was segregated by clique, so sitting anywhere one didn't belong was asking to be trashcanned. People were especially terrified of breaking bread with either The Shrew or Patrick, the former because she'd drive you into insanity with her sharp words and the latter because he'd crack your skull for looking in his direction. Both of the rumors were untrue; Ashlee had been sitting at Kat Stratford's table almost since the beginning of the school year and no harm had come from that choice. The older girl and her skinny friend, Mandela, ignored her for the most part. Every now and then they'd ask for her input in a controversial debate they were having. It wasn't that they were scared by her reputation – or rather, her brother's reputation – but they were somewhat wary of it from what Ashlee could tell.

Today was nothing out of the ordinary. Kat and Mandela were discussing the upcoming Winter Prom which had been named, so originally, Blasting into the New Year.

"I'm just saying that it's a pointless high school ritual that I, for one, will certainly not be attending. We have to take a stand, Mandela!" The tall blond emphasized her statement by tearing in half the poster she had just ripped off a nearby wall.

"Would you go, Ashlee, if someone asked you?"

Ashlee set down her tuna sandwich and shrugged, "Well, ignoring the fact that no one will ask me, I have to honestly say, I don't know. Most of the guys here are –"

" – dicks," cut in Kat.

"I was going to say, most of the guys here are scared shitless of my brother."

Kat gave her an unimpressed look. "What's the deal with him, anyway? Why does he keep you all locked up? Are you secretly an alien or is it some sort of incest thing? Wait, are you guys in the Witness Protection Program?"

"He's just super protective," Ashlee laughed.

Mandela made a face, "He doesn't really seem the type, but okay."

"No," Kat announced, "sometimes the protective older sibling urge is uncontrollable, even when it's unwanted."

After that, the conversation drifted back into Kat and Mandela only land as Ashlee attempted to finish her poem for English class. Damn iambic pentameter.

* * *

"Can anyone give me the definition of an isotope?"

Ashlee kept her gaze determinedly at her desk. Unlike her brother, she had no interest in science and even the basic fundamentals of Chemistry insisted in eluding her no matter how many times Patrick explained them in simple terms. Luckily Mr. Swanson was a saint and he never called on her. It was Chastity Church who got the spotlight this time.

"Miss Church, can you tell the class what an isotope is, if you'd be so kind."

Chastity gave a surprised gasp at the sound of her name and set down her emery board. "An isotope? Uh," she stalled, bringing up one of her perfectly manicured nails to place on her chin. "An isotope is when a –"

Whatever definition Chastity was about to make up was interrupted by the wail of the fire alarm. Mr. Swanson looked beyond peeved. "Alright class, let's climb to our feet and follow the evacuation plan in an orderly manner this time. Take your things, and don't think you escaped, Miss Church, because you didn't. I expect a full explanation of isotopes when we return to class. Now let's move out."

Once in the hallway pandemonium broke loose. Ashlee found herself carried along by the overly excited crowd. Someone jostled her elbow; another person slammed their shoulder into the top of her head causing her to lose her balance. With a small squeak, Ashlee dropped her bag and fell to her knees, the palms of her hands smacking into the hard linoleum of the floor. Biting back tears as someone stepped on her fingers, she attempted to stay calm.

"Whoah, guys be careful," came an alarmed cry. People continued to mill around Ashlee as if she didn't exist, but suddenly there was someone by her side. He helped her to her feet, grabbing her book bad as well, and steered her towards the exit. Outside, the teachers were directing students to the safe zone and trying to keep order. Ashlee's knight guided her to bench and sat her down.

"Holy crap, it was like they were friggin' blind or something," he exploded. "In what kind of terrible place do people ignore downed fellow human beings?"

Ashlee looked up to see an unfamiliar face brimming with righteous outrage.

"Are you all right?!"

She couldn't help but smile, despite the fact that her breathing continued to skip beats. "I'm okay."

Her rescuer looked dubious.

"No really, it happens all the time," she said, waving off his skeptical expression. "I'm an absolute klutz. Thanks though for saving me." The boy was extremely cute. He was cute in both the charming little boy way and the attractive sensitive male way. He had to be new to Padua because she would have noticed before if he'd been around long. "I'm Ashlee," she offered.

He nodded, and in a slightly calmer tone, he said, "I'm Cameron."

"New here?"

"Yeah, it's my second day." He ran a hand through his hair as he set her book bag that he was still holding down with the other. "Is everyone here really that self-absorbed?"

Ashlee sighed. He was just too cute. "Pretty much. People get very excited around here, and nothing gets them more pumped than a fire drill."

He snorted. "That sucks."

They slipped into silence for a moment or two, both watching the crowds of students that were moving in every direction. Then, desperate to keep the conversation going, Ashlee asked, "So, what year are you?"

"Oh, I'm a senior. You?"

"Sophomore."

"So you're fifteen?"

"Sixteen, actually. You?"

"Seventeen."

"And how do you like Padua so far?"

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders in a slightly embarrassed way. "Ah, you know, I've seen a lot worse."

"Switch schools a lot?" It was so refreshing to have a _normal_ conversation with someone. Hell, it was refreshing to have a _conversation_ with someone outside her family. And Cameron was so sweet and obviously oblivious to that fact that she was Patrick Verona's sister.

"All the time. My dad's in the military so we move constantly. This is my ninth school in the last eleven years."

"Wow, it's only my fourth."

He smiled at her again and she realized he had the most adorable dimples. "Four, that's more than some people I've met. I can't imagine having attended the same school my entire life. Have you always lived in Washington?"

"Oh no, I spent last year in Wisconsin with my Grandpa."

"See, I've lived in twelve different states, my favorite being Hawaii when I was ten."

Ashlee crossed her arms and shook her head. "Jealous."

"I bet you are. I learned how to Hula." He observed her skepticism and laughed. "Oh, I see, you don't believe me! Here, I'll show you!" With that, he hopped up and started swaying his hips and waving his arms from side to side.

Ashlee could hardly contain her mirth. Cameron could dance quite well, but it was his attitude that was so funny. While he was joking around, he was also very serious about the dance. "Bravo," she told him, "You look just like a real life Hula dancer."

He stopped dancing and gave grinned. "Why thank you."He took a bow just as the All-is-Safe bell sounded. Teachers began waving orange flags in various directions, attempting to herd the sea of unruly students into lines by class. Cameron sighed, "It looks like the break is over. Back to Geometry. It was nice meeting – "

Ashlee's disappointment at Cameron having to leave only escalated when she saw what had caused him to trail off. Bianca Stratford. Of course the one decent guy at Padua would be infatuated with Bianca. Who wasn't? "You've fallen under her spell already."

Cameron's head snapped towards her with a half-guilty and half-defiant expression. "Who – what are you talking about?"

Ashlee lifted her eyebrows. "Bianca. Bianca Stratford."

"I don't know what you're – "

"— It's all right, almost every guy here is, or was once, enamored with her. She's a siren, luring men in to their great disappointment when they learn that she's not allowed to date."

Ashlee could almost see his skin prickle in Bianca's defense, "Bianca Stratford is not a siren! She's beautiful, but she's also gorgeous on the inside as well. Everyone keeps saying that she's spoiled, but I beg to differ." When Ashlee didn't say anything in response, Cameron continued. "Michael says

"Michael Eckmann, the Ivy Kid? Wow, you must be super smart if he was willing to hang out with you after the school tour."

Cameron shook his head. "He seemed pretty chill, though he did say some rude thing about Bianca."

"Oh, you poor lovesick puppy, Michael spent many a month pining over that girl before he grew into his jaded current self. It's what all the boys do; they love her until they hate her."

"So she really doesn't date?"

She shook her head. "No, she really doesn't date. The dad's a stickler from what I hear. Mom is out of the picture and Dad is way overprotective in compensation. It's a classic setting for a tragic love story, right? Wrong, Romeo! It will never work out, believe me."

"I just want to be able to talk to her, you know, just spend a little time with her. Do you think that's possible?" His pleading eyes were too much for her and Ashlee felt her cynicism begin to slip.

"It won't work."

"Please! I've heard she needs a French Tutor."

Ashlee felt a rise of hope. Cameron spoke French? God knew she needed help with that subject as well and unlike with Chemistry, her French actually stood a chance of improving. True, she could always ask Dave for help, but it would be so perfect if Cameron could tutor her. "Yes, she is. Do you speak French?" The words came out far too squeaky for Ashlee's taste, but Cameron didn't seem to notice.

"Well..."

"Because I'm in French with Bianca and I'm not doing so hot in the class either. Ms. Delacroix says I need to find a tutor as well. How much do you charge?"

"Actually, I don't speak French."

She couldn't help but stare at him. Shit, today sucked. "Really? Then why do you –"

"—Do you think you could pass my name along to her?"

"But she doesn't date, Cameron."

"No, my name as a French tutor."

"But you just said you don't speak French."

"But I will."

She regarded his pathetically clasped hands and rolled her eyes. "Don't you think she'll figure out that you don't speak French? She's not doing that poorly in the class!"

A teacher spotted two of them and waved at them to join the rest of the students that were slowly filing back into the building. Cameron picked up his backpack and offered Ashlee a hand up from the bench. "I just want to spend some time with her. Please tell her about me."

"Fine," Ashlee agreed, accepting his warm hand in her warm and letting him pull her to her feet, "I'll pass your name along, but I can't promise anything because I don't really know her that well and she doesn't take advice a lot."

Cameron surprised her by drawing her into an excited hug. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you," he breathed. "Here let me give you my email address and cell number so you can give them to Bianca." He tore a prom poster off the table and scribbled down his information on the back. "Thank you again; you know you're awesome, right?" With that, he threw her one last wide smile and disappeared into the dwindling crowd. Too shocked to move, Ashlee remained where she was standing for a good thirty seconds before she headed in the direction of the rest of the students. As she reentered the building she made the quick decision to skip the rest of Chemistry and instead go take a nap in the nurse's office. She had a lot to think about before French class.

* * *

"Hey Bianca, I love your sweater."

Bianca turned, and to her credit she attempted to not look too surprised. After a few moment of staring at Ashlee she said, "I know, I just love it to death. I have one in lavender as well."

Ashlee forced a smile, "Oh lavender is a gorgeous color on you! By the way, are you still looking for a French tutor?"

"Oh my gosh, yes, though I don't know how it will help. This language will never get easier."

Chastity leaned over and gave Ashlee a withering look, "Do you have a reason for speaking to us? Because if not, then you need to go back to looking silently at your desk."

"Chastity," Bianca said, laughing slightly, though Ashlee couldn't tell if it was an amused or embarrassed giggle.

"It's just that I have a terrible time with this beast of a class but I just found this awesome tutor. He's great and he's looking for a few more tutorees. I thought I'd help him out and pass his information along – that is, if you're interested, Bianca."

"Yeah, sure. Who is it? It's not Frankie Schuler, is it? You know, Mr. I-Never-Wash-My-Hands-Or-Hair."

"No, it's not Frankie. His name is Cameron and he's pretty new here."

Chastity heaved a huge stage sigh and then yawned.

"How much French has he had," Bianca asked.

"Er, four years, I think. He's great! I might just pass this class!"

"Humph, well don't get your hopes up," Chastity cut in.

"Chastity," Bianca gave her friend a confused look, "Ashlee's just trying to help me out."

"Whatever."

"Here, let me give you his number." Ashlee flipped through her notebook till she found the scrap of paper with Cameron's writing on it. Copying over the information, she handed the second sheet to Bianca.

"Thanks," the younger Stratford said. Ms. Delacroix chose that moment to make her entrance and Ashlee turned back to her desk. That had gone better than she had expected, though Bianca and Chastity were now having a not-so-quiet conversation about her.

"Jesus, can you believe she just started talking to you like that," Chastity was saying.

"Just leave it alone, Chastity. She's kinda nice in a loser sorta way."

"Yeah, but what a lame thing to talk about – a stupid French tutor. Oo-la-la, so amateur."

Bianca straightened her chair which made a loud screeching noise as it moved. "She was just trying to help, Chastity. And I think I might even contact the guy. It's worth a shot."

"Okay, well you can leave off the weird stuff, Bianca. Take her side. This can be your good deed for the day."

Ashlee snorted lightly. Maybe it wasn't Bianca who was the problem. She just needed some new friends!

"Attention everyone, we have presentations on our families today. Remember, only French from this point on! I do not want to hear any English," Ms. Delacroix announced from the front of the classroom. Ashlee sat back and prepared herself for fifty minutes of torture.

* * *

Ashlee was debating exactly how well her suggestion to Bianca had gone as she walked through the somewhat crowded hallways on her way to the main exit. Someone bumped into her hard, causing her to drop her book for the second time that day. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" she called out after their disappearing frame. Yes, Patrick was certainly wearing off on her. As she scrambled to collect her textbooks she caught the sound of her name from around the corner.

"Yeah, Ashlee Something-or-Other. She's in French with Bianca." She recognized Cameron's voice.

"Wait, you met a girl?" said his friend, mostly likely the Michael kid. "Ashley What?"

"I didn't get her last name, but she's going to set me up with Bianca."

"Sure," his friend laughed, "Of course she's going to set you up with Bianca, but what's more important is which Ashley you met! This could be really good, Cameron! Was she tall and blonde?"

Ashlee was fairly sure that Cameron was speaking with Michael and she couldn't help but want to gag the boy. Eventually he would realize exactly which Ashlee she was and it was inevitable that he would warn Cameron about her.

"No, she had brown hair and she was normal height. She's a sophomore."

"Did she look like a cheerleader? Cause if she did, then that's Ashley Davidson."

"I don't think she was a cheerleader, but she could have been, I guess. She had curly brown hair and brown eyes and she had this bag that was covered in marker writing and she –"

"—oh shit, Cameron! You're lucky to be alive, man!

"What do you mean?"

Michael was having trouble forming words. "Do you have any idea who that girl is?"

"Not really. She was just really nice, that's all."

Ashlee felt herself smile. He thought she was nice at least.

"I thought you liked Bianca," Michael pointed out.

"I do," Cameron verified, "but what, I can't be friends with any other girls?"

"You do know that he's going to kill you when he finds out."

"Who?"

"Your 'nice' little friend, Ashlee, is Patrick Verona's baby sister. She's as strange as her brother and if you know what's best for you, you'd stay the hell away from them both!"

Ashlee bit her lip till she tasted blood. Why did it have to be this way? Why did everyone have to avoid her and Patrick? And why did Cameron, the one decent guy at Padua, have to be told the social rules so soon? Couldn't his ignorance have lasted a tad bit longer?

"Look Michael," Cameron said, "Ashlee's awesome. She said she was going to fix me up as Bianca's French tutor even though she knows I don't speak French! Yeah, her brother is probably psychotic, but she's normal enough. Other than you, she's the only person who has spoken to me of her own free will."

"And that's why I am so terrified for your life, my friend," Michael's reply came. "That's not normal behavior for a Verona! Seriously, she eats by The Shrew and her skinny sidekick and even they won't talk to her! Besides, if her brother sees you speaking to her, he'll feed you through a paper shredder and use you as salad topping."

Having heard enough, Ashlee stood up and turned back the way she had come. So much for making an actual friend at Padua; she should have known better than to get her hopes up.

* * *

Her brother was in the kitchen when she got home from school, Mum's floral patterned apron over his clothes and his hair tied back away from his face. He eyed her carefully, making sure she was all right, and then he asked, "How'd you get home?"

She rolled her eyes. "I took the city bus like I promised I would, Mr. Paranoid."

"Ashlee." There was a pleading quality to his voice.

"Pat," she mimicked, "I took the city bus – I'll admit that I didn't want to as I the walk is not that long and it's nice out today – but I took the damn bus. I knew you'd 'put me through a paper shredder and use me as salad dressing' if I didn't."

"What?"

"Oh, it's just a horror story I heard someone spreading today. Apparently you not only eat ducks, but you're a cannibal as well. You've moved up in the world. Congratulations."

He caught her mocking tone and stiff stance and he immediately set down the spatula he was holding. "Ash, is something wrong?"

"No," she said, a tinge of anger accompanying the obvious lie.

Patrick's eyes flashed with annoyance and concern. "Did something happen at school?"

Ashlee was staring at her brother. It wasn't really his fault; he did try to make things easier for her and he had far too much pressure for a boy of eighteen. Taking a deep breath, Ashlee forced herself to relax. "No, nothing happened. I'm tired, that's all."

"And that's why I don't want you walking home. Think of how tired you'd be. Besides, I don't believe that's the whole story. What happened?"

"What, I can't be cranky?!"

Patrick's gaze was burning into her and she knew she had to escape or she'd have another breakdown. "God, can't a girl be miserable when she's on her period? Jesus Christ, I know how uncomfortable the subject makes you so I was trying to avoid it! Now, if you'll be so kind as to hand me three Tylenol and a glass of water, I'll go take a nap."

The guilt of lying to her older brother was starting to give her a headache, but it was better than admitting that she was frustrated because his bad-boy reputation was hurting her chances at making friends. Pat would feel awful and then probably force some kids at school to hang out with her. Or he'd attach himself to her elbow again like he had the first several weeks back at Padua. All she really wanted to go back in time and jump Michael and leave him tied up in a broom cupboard somewhere before he had a chance to warn Cameron about her.

Stomping down the hall to her makeshift bedroom, Ashlee attempted to block out the events of her day. She'd kept her promise to Cameron. True, he'd probably never speak to her again now that he had the chance to properly pine after Bianca (that was, if she took Ashlee's suggestion to heart). It was a shame, Ashlee thought as she tossed her incomplete homework to the floor before curling up in her bed, he is so sweet and she will walk all over him. The last though that fluttered through her mind as sleep consumed her, was that this was her first crush since third grade and it was doomed from the start.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. I only own the OCs.

_**Author's Note:**_ Thanks to all my reviewers. Sorry for the wait, but Chapter Six should be out soon. I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!

* * *

"Good mornin', good mornin'! It's great to stay up late, good mornin', good mornin' to you!" The light flickered on in Ashlee's bedroom and the baritone voice ceased its early morning serenade. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I remembered witnessing a huge show of hysterics sometime last month when I let you sleep through school."

She peered up at her brother from under the crook of her elbow. "It's a good thing you remembered," she croaked, "I can't always be missing school."

"Your voice seems to have stayed asleep," Patrick teased. "Anyway, I brought home some overpriced pastries for breakfast and Dave's offered to drive you to school today. He should be here in about fifteen minutes."

Untangling her legs from the sheets, Ashlee swung her feet to the floor. "You work too much," she grunted. "Now go on, I have to make myself presentable."

Patrick remained where he was. "I'm not leaving until you say, 'I'm up!' three times in a row and turn around in a circle while patting your head and rubbing your stomach."

Ashlee rolled her eyes, "Seriously Pat, I'm up."

"Don't think you can escape our tradition that easily, Ash, because you can't. Now, on your feet!"

With a sleepy groan, Ashlee levered herself up and began the process of proving her alertness. She had actually been the one to invent the game back when Patrick had been an exhausted thirteen-year-old who would have preferred to sleep the entire day away. Satisfied that she was properly awake, her brother left the room, calling back over his shoulder, "Fourteen minutes, Ash."

As soon as he was gone, Ashlee sat back down on her bed. The previous day had been trying but she had allowed herself to wallow in it and that was not a good thing. She'd made Patrick concerned and she'd also lied to him. Today she was going to find the silver lining in everything. Normal Ashlee was back. It didn't matter that Cameron would never speak to her again because he was afraid for his life. At least she had met him and was able to help him out with Bianca. Today was going to be a fabulous day, which meant she needed to be on time this morning. Crossing to her dresser, Ashlee chose a cheery outfit of jeans and a yellow and pink top. Then slipping on her converse, she grabbed her backpack and hurried to the kitchen.

"God, that shirt is very bright," Patrick commented from behind the newspaper he was reading.

Ashlee smirked, "How can you even see what I'm wearing?"

Her brother didn't reply, but he folded down the newspaper and set it beside him on the counter. Ashlee came and stood next to him. "You said you had pastries?"

"Yep, I swiped a few poppyseed muffins and an apple fritter or two."

"Poppyseed muffin, please."

Patrick turned to the opposite counter and grabbed a small paper bag from where it rested next to the refrigerator. Extracting the desired muffin, he deposited it in his sister's outstretched hand. "Are you feeling any better today?" he asked as he selected an apple fritter from the bag for himself.

Ashlee took a big bite of her muffin and spoke around it. "I am much better now, thank you. Sorry for being so testy yesterday. It was just a bad day."

"No details necessary, that is, unless you want to talk about it," Patrick interjected quickly, "Everyone is entitled to a few days of absolute bitchiness."

Punching her brother lightly on the arm, she deliberately changed the subject. "How's Cabin Fever treating you?"

"You see, Ash, it's hard to succumb to Cabin Fever when I spend the first three hours of my morning in a freezing cold coffee shop making skim lattes for overachieving office employees. I get home and relish that I don't have to suffer though a long boring day at school. Then I make myself a delicious lunch (unlike the shit I have to eat in the cafeteria) and I do some homework and watch _The Godfather_ and sing along with the radio. Oh, and I check in on Grandpa every now and then. Cabin Fever. Yeah, it sucks."

"You don't have to rub your freedom in, asshole," Ashlee said as she leaned over to peer out the window. "Dave's here. I'd better go before he gets pissed."

Patrick laughed. "Have a good day at school, sweetie."

"Okay, Mum," Ashlee replied.

"Pay attention and learn a lot."

She didn't answer, instead slipping out the door to escape his sarcasm. "Hey Dave," she said as she climbed up into the cab of his rusty red pickup.

He nodded his hello to her and flipped off Patrick, who was now standing on the porch. Dave had never been one for a lot of words. Ashlee settled back into the stiff canvas covered seat and blew a kiss at her brother, watching as he made a huge show of jumping out of the way so it would miss him. Rolling her eyes, she buckled up and pulled out her unfinished homework from the night before. She flipped through her Chem work growing more disheartened by the moment. As they halted at the stop sign at the end of the Verona's street, Dave leaned over and removed the papers from her hands. Glancing at them for no more than a second, he rolled down his window and proceeded to dump the remainder of his morning tea over them. Ashlee let out a gasp of horror.

"Calm down," Dave said, pulling the wet mess back inside the truck. "Put these over the heat vent on the dash. They'll dry before we get to school."

She took the dripping wad from his sticky fingers and attempted to smooth the chemistry problems over the slats in the dashboard as Dave accelerated through the intersection. "Why the hell did you do that?"

Not bothering to turn his lidded gaze from the road to her face, Dave shrugged. "You kept making disturbing groans."

"So you destroyed my homework?"

"Yes, I did."

"_Salaud_!"

That gained her a look. "If you ever want to learn more creative French insults, let me know."

"Well, do you mind telling me how I'm supposed to pass this off?" Ashlee demanded, gesturing to the quickly drying homework.

"Say it was an accident, or better yet, say Patrick did it on purpose because you aggravated him."

"I'm not dragging Pat into this, Dave!"

His face remained as impassive as ever as he navigated the streets with a sense of care that did not match his Mohawk and tattoos. "It was just a suggestion."

Ashlee let out an excessively loud and obnoxious groan and banged her head back into the seat. To his credit, Dave didn't make any sign of annoyance, merely checking his blind spot before moving into the left turn lane. She repeated the groan. Still nothing. "You're a terrible person, David Scurvy."

Unable to get another word out of the taciturn male, Ashlee turned her attention to her US History assignment. "Don't even think about desecrating this textbook," she warned before delving into the reading that was due First Period. Before she had even finished the first five pages, the pickup was pulling into the Padua High parking lot. "Damn," she muttered, "I need to learn Patrick's speed reading trick."

Dave drove up next to the main entrance and let Ashlee out so she wouldn't have to walk all the way from the far corner of the senior lot where his designated spot resided. As she turned to grab her bag and the barely damp, though thoroughly stained beyond legibility, chemistry papers she grinned at her brother's best friend. "Thanks, by the way, I really didn't want to do that homework. Really."

The edge of his mouth rose slightly in the barest hint of a smile. "Anytime."

Slamming the door of the truck, Ashlee looked up at the looming entrance before her. She was on time. She was well rested. And most importantly, she determined to find the silver lining in everything. Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

"Alright, and pass your quizzes up to the front. As long as you did today's reading on the Reconstruction period, you have nothing to worry about," Mr. Hayes announced, a trace of satisfaction.

Ashlee set her pencil down and stared at her cramped penmanship that covered her quiz. She had done a decent job, though the last couple questions had come from the section of her reading that she hadn't finished. It was solid B work. With one final look at the thin stapled pile of papers, Ashlee handed them forward to Frankie Schuler who occupied the chair in front of her.

"Make sure you read through the end of Chapter 6 before Friday! You will be glad you did, ladies and gentleman. Hint. Hint."

Jotting down Mr. Hayes's not-so-subtle announcement of another pop quiz, Ashlee also made a mental note to study ahead of time for this one. Not that she would. It didn't matter how many resolutions she made to put more effort into her classes, she always managed to procrastinate and put off doing any real work for school. Grades were really not a big concern of hers. Patrick, on the other hand, did care and somehow managed to maintain a very high GPA despite his reputation. The rumor around school was that teachers passed him and graded him well because they were terrified he'd come after them during the night if they didn't. Ashlee knew the truth, which was that Patrick studied hard and did his homework, however he had sworn her to secrecy so that he could keep up his bad-boy persona. The scary scholar, that what he was, while she was the more artistic one. Or maybe the artistic-only one, as Pat had an artistic side as well as his studious one. Her favorite class was her Art elective, which luckily happened to be her next class. With a slight skip in her step, Ashlee made her way from the history classroom towards the Art rooms a few halls over.

* * *

Due to an unannounced 25-cent price raise in the cafeteria, Kat and Mandela were boycotting lunch, so Ashlee sat by herself at the small table. Her sketchbook lay on the table in front of her with a half finished design adorning the open page. The drawing, once completed, was going to be transferred onto a large canvas and turned into her midterm piece for her Art elective. Taking a bite from her tuna fish and tomato sandwich, Ashlee reached into her schoolbag and withdrew a handful of colored pencils. As she began adding highlights of color to the black and white sketch, she overheard a particularly sleazy voice drifting through the rest of the chaos of lunch period.

"Damn Kevin, I am _so_ going to tap that thing, Daddy or no daddy."

Looking backwards over her shoulder, Ashlee was greeted by the sight of Joey Donner and his posse sneering at something, most likely someone, across the cafeteria. Rolling her eyes, she swiveled around to see who was unfortunate enough to be Donner's newest target. Bianca Stratford. Go figure. The guy seriously needed to get a hobby _other_ than banging all the girls in school. Besides, since Bianca had become popular at the beginning of sophomore year a few months back, no one had succeeded in even getting close to her. According to common gossip, as well as snippets of information Ashlee had gleaned from various lunches with Kat, Mr. Stratford was a tad over-protective and had indeed installed a no-dating policy – much to Bianca's chagrin.

"Just look at that tight little booty, boys."

Ugh, she was going to be sick. Gazing distastefully at the remainder of her sandwich, Ashlee shoved her sketchbook and pencils back into her bag and rose from the table. Tossing her leftover lunch into a nearby wastebin, she headed for the cafeteria exit. Once out of hearing range of Donner's disgusting and chauvinistic comments, Ashlee made for her lockers to get her Chemistry book. Entering her locker combination, Ashlee suddenly heard a loud exclamation in her ear.

"She called me! She called me, Ashlee!"

Long arms encircled her waist and spun her around. Gasping in surprise, Ashlee brought her hands up, planted them on her unknown assailants chest, and shoved him backwards. With a thud, Cameron landed on his butt, a glowing smile still plastered across his face.

"Cameron?" Ashlee asked, shocked. Here was the guy that she wasn't supposed to see ever again, and he seemed excited to talk to her!

"I'm sorry if I startled you, Ashlee, but I'm just so excited," he said, scrambling to his feet. "I know it's only tutoring and it's only two hours a week, but it's a start. I also know that the odds are against me and that I'm acting like a complete lunatic, but I don't care. Michael says that she'll never give me the time of day and that her father is more of a nutcase than I am, but he also thinks you're scary as hell, so he doesn't quite have all of his marbles left either, if you ask me."

As Cameron paused, solely to take a huge breath, Ashlee cut in quickly, "Calm down, Cameron, you're ranting. Umm, I take it that Bianca called about French tutoring? When is the first session?"

If it was possible for him to smile any wider, he did. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow right after school. Oh god, what should I wear? How should I act? What should I do?"

As awkward as the situation was, Ashlee couldn't help but chuckle a little. "I would suggest wearing clothes, acting calm, and tutoring her in French."

Cameron's smile vanished and his eyes grew large, "But I don't speak French, remember?"

"I thought you were going to learn the basics."

"I only have one day!" He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Shit. This won't be pretty. She'll walk out on me as soon as we start and she realizes that I can't speak a word of French. Then she'll never even look at me again."

Ashlee rolled her eyes. "Again, calm down, Cameron. It'll be fine. Bianca's French is atrocious. With a few hours of studying tonight and perhaps a French film or two – to familiarize yourself with the accent and all – you'll be great come tomorrow. Really, no sweat."

"No sweat?!" His panicked expression was comical.

"Need I remind you that this whole French tutor thing was your brilliant idea, Mr. Genius?"

He sighed. "I know I'm acting like a complete and utter idiot right now. I just feel like she's the one, you know? I can't really explain why or how I feel this way, I just do. And I didn't actually expect her to call me last night, but she did. And now I don't know what to do. I want to be near her, to get to know her, but I don't think I'll be able to pull this off."

Inwardly, Ashlee groaned. Next he was going to ask her to help him learn French. He was going to try to suck her further into this mess that she wanted none of. Except she did want some of it. He was so sweet and clueless and Bianca really didn't deserve him. However, he wanted Bianca. "What are you doing after school today, Cameron?"

"I was going to go to the library to get French books with Michael. Would you like to come? Oh my god, could help me with my French?!" The loopy grin was back.

Here went nothing. "Yeah sure, but I warn you, my French is quite possibly worse than Bianca's."

Cameron launched himself at her, his wiry arms enveloping her in another hug, and Ashlee knew that she would help this boy get whatever he wanted, anything to make him happy.

* * *

"Are you kidding? I'm not going in there to meet _his_ little sister!"

"Michael, geez, she's not the least bit scary…or dangerous, for that matter. Now come on, she's going to help me with my French!"

Ashlee waited inside the tiny café that sat next to the local library, ignoring the last bit of her small tea. Apparently Cameron hadn't told Michael of her addition to the gang until just now, and to say that Michael was less than thrilled was a severe understatement. Operation Woo Bianca Via French Lessons was off to a rocky beginning and if the boys didn't hurry up, Patrick was going to have a conniption fit. She had called home from the payphone at school to tell him that she'd be a few hours later than usual because she had to meet up with some classmates for a group project. That was before Cameron had to postpone the meeting by a half hour in order to have a mandatory second check-in with Ms. Perky to make sure he was doing alright at Padua High. Then Michael was ten minutes late meeting them at the library. Now this.

"If he kills us because of this, I'm going to kill you!"

"That makes absolutely no sense, Michael. Seriously, it'll be okay. Ashlee's cool."

"Yeah, she's cool and calculating, right down to when she slits our throats!"

"What the hell, Michael. Don't be ridiculous! She's not going to slit your throat. She's a normal, really _really_ nice, girl and she can probably hear you since you can't seem to keep your voice down."

"Oh shit."

"Chill, man. Come on, we've been waiting for you for a while."

The two of them entered the café and Michael gulped nervously. Ashlee stood and stepped towards them. "Hi, you must be Michael. I'm Ashlee," she said, offering her hand.

Michael swallowed hard again. "Umm, I'd rather not touch you, just to be safe. Your brother is –"

"—not here," Ashlee cut in, offering her hand again. How Patrick instilled this much terror in their fellow classmates was beyond her.

With a glance of desperation at Cameron, Michael accepted the handshake, snatching his hand back as soon as possible. "Hi," he muttered.

Cameron looked highly amused. "See, I told you she didn't bite."

The next hour and a half was spent amongst the bookshelves of the library and in one of the group study rooms that was supposedly soundproof. It turned out to be not as soundproof as advertised; one of the librarians knocked on the door a few times to tell the three of them to keep the noise down. Cameron kept oscillating between feeling confident about the French he was learning and feeling depressed about how little he knew. Michael attempted to be brave in the face of what he thought was huge danger. He playacted Bianca so Cameron would have someone to practice with, while Ashlee fought to maintain her frustration at the boys' antics.

"Cameron, stop cracking your knuckles. It shows your nerves and is generally just plain annoying."

The knuckle cracking ceased as the culprit turned to look at her. "Why couldn't Bianca need tutoring in German. _Ich spreche Deutsch! Ich je parle Francais nicht_!"

"_Je ne parle pas francais_, Cameron."

"Whatever! I can't speak French! I just can't!"

Ashlee shook her head. "Say it in French. Do it."

"I can't," Cameron whined.

"Dude," Michael said, crossing his arms over his chest, "_I_ can even say it in French. _Je ne parle pas francais_."

Cameron glared. "Dude, not helpful."

"Come on, Cameron, do you want to do this or not. I have other things I could be doing with my time if you are just going to give up on this," Ashlee said. "As it is, I need to leave soon or else my brother is going to send out a search party for me."

"I'm sorry, Ashlee. I know I'm being an ass about everything, and I really do appreciate your help. And I do want to go through with this. Bianca is worth it. So, without further ado, _je ne parle pas francais_. Or should I say, _je parle francais_. I _do_ speak French."

"Bravo," Michael drawled, closing the giant English to French dictionary that lay on the table before him. "Cameron, my man, I'm with Ashlee on this one: any more French today and my head is going to explode."

Cameron nodded. "Alright. Help me carry all of these books up to the checkout counter and I'll leave off studying till I get home tonight."

Together, the three of them lugged the large books up to the librarian's desk and then out to Cameron's car. "I'll see you tomorrow, Michael," Cameron said as he closed his trunk. "I'm going to run Ashlee home now and then I'm going to learn French the rest of the night."

"You're taking her home?" Michael face drained of color. He had grown more accustomed to Ashlee's presence throughout the time in the library, but this was apparently too much for him. "Dude, he'll _see_ you! Do you have a death wish?"

"Wouldn't he be more upset if I just left her here to find her own way home?"

"Um," Ashlee said, "_She_ is standing right here."

The boys shared matching sheepish expressions.

"Ahem, and _She_ would like to go home now, if you don't mind."

That got them moving. Michael waved his farewells, casting an apprehensive glance over his shoulder at his new best friend. Cameron unlocked the car doors, opening Ashlee's side for her, before backing out of the nearly empty parking lot and following her directions towards her house. "Thanks again for the help," he said, "I know we just met yesterday and all, and I really appreciate everything you've done to help me with Bianca. You're a really kindhearted person."

Ashlee blushed slightly and fought down the simultaneous joy and sadness that rose inside of her at his words. He was so nice and so unavailable. "Anytime," she heard herself say.

For the remainder of the short drive, Ashlee drilled Cameron on his French. By the time they reached her street, he had an inkling of a proper French accent. As she climbed out of his car, assuring him that he didn't need to get out and open her door for her, she cast her chauffer a smile. "Thanks for the ride. And good luck with French practice tonight."

"Maybe I can catch you in the hall tomorrow before I meet with Bianca. You know, last minute good luck and all," he said, handing her out her schoolbag.

Ashlee's smile became a grin. "Maybe. See you tomorrow."

With a wave, Cameron drove off, leaving Ashlee watching after him a few seconds before heading into the house and a waiting Patrick. Opening the front door, she was greeted with the sight of Patrick hunched over a pile of textbooks. A used paper plate lay on the floor next to his chair, and the radio's cord was stretched so it could sit on the table. "You missed dinner," he said without looking up.

"I know. The project took a little longer but at least we made a decent start on it."

"I put a plate of food away for you. It's in the microwave."

"Thanks," she said just as her stomach grumbled loudly.

He glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "Well now."

She laughed. "I guess I had better go eat then."

"I guess you'd better."

"Then I'm going to take a quick nap."

Frowning, Patrick pushed back his chair and rose. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, the study group wore me out a bit though. I just need a tiny rest before I do my homework. Or before I don't do my homework. Whichever I feel like when I wake up."

"Food," he prompted.

"Microwave," she retorted.

"Butt."

"Hutt."

"Jerk"

"Uh – "

"I win," he announced. "Now go eat and then nap."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"I'm in the mood for a cup of tea and a movie. How about you?"

Patrick looked up from a sheaf of papers that were covered in scary-looking equations and diagrams. "Tea and a movie sound great, but you'll have to give me another half and hour to finish these calculus problems, okay?"

"Sure," Ashlee said, stopping to peer over her brother's shoulder. "Shit, remind me never to take higher math. How can you stand that stuff?"

"It's not so bad, surprisingly. Not as fun as Biology, but then again, what is?"

Ashlee made a gagging sound and continued on her path to the kitchen. "I'll pop some popcorn and put the teakettle on. Any movie preference?"

Patrick's voice drifted in from where he sat at the living room coffee table. "No, you can pick, just as long as it's not some sappy romantic crap that you females are always watching."

"I do not appreciate all the members of my gender being clumped together in such a broad stereotype! We do not all watch romantic movies and for your information, _While You Were Sleeping_ is neither 'sappy' nor 'crap'!" Setting the teakettle on the front burner of the stove, Ashlee opened the cupboard to find the box of popcorn.

"Is that the one you made me rent a few weeks ago, cause if it's the one I'm thinking of, it is most certainly sappy."

Ashlee smirked. "I notice you didn't call it crap."

No response.

"Hey Patrick, do you know where the box of popcorn went? I thought it was on the second to top shelf in the pantry cupboard."

"Top shelf, dishes cupboard. Now will you please let me finish this homework?"

"Found it," Ashlee said. "Sorry about the interruption."

"_Raiders of the Lost Ark_."

Ashlee set the timer on the microwave before responding. "What?"

"Let's watch _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. We haven't watched Indy in a while."

"_Raiders_ it is, then. Now quit slacking off and do your bloody homework, Patrick!"

She smiled as his soft laughter wafted into the kitchen to join the cheerful popping of the popcorn.


End file.
